Highway To Hell
by Meloncholy
Summary: The Winchester brothers investigate a small Nevada town, where drivers on a certain stretch of road are found brutally murdered in their cars.Set before they find John, consider it just after the incidents in Skin
1. Chapter 1

Alright, this is the first fanfic i ever wrote, so i myself know it's not brilliant. Which is why i wanted to stick to the safe side and base my story on the episode format used in the show. This first chapter, is more like a prologue. Consider it to be the little taster bit before the opening credit sequence starts. If you like this one, please check out my other fic **What You Love is Ripped Away**, which is much better than this one.

Disclaimer - I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters - unfortunately. Nor do i own any other companies, products or people mentioned in this fic. Wish i did though.

Hope you like, and PLEASE read and review. It is much appreciated, and constructive criticism always welcome!

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Chapter 1

Diana pulled in at the virtually deserted 7-Eleven just after midnight, putting her car into park and turning off her engine, glancing around the garage forecourt. The place was deadly quiet, it's bright neon lights seeming unusually harsh after emerging from the darkness of the forest that overlooked most of Route 50. The only other car present was a pickup parked at the pump across from hers, so caked in mud that the red paint underneath was barely visible. It's owner, she presumed, was the man standing near the counter in the store, who looked like he was about to have a coronary deciding over different types of cake.

_Heart attacks over cakes, well that just about sums this place up_, Diana thought, climbing out of her car. _Excitement city this isn't_, she shook her head in amusement and began to fill her car up.

The trees next to the convenience store swayed in the wind, making the hairs on her neck stand up. She didn't know what it was about this place, but something wasn't right. Or maybe she'd just spent too long in that damn car, and listening to Noah's ghost stories.

She laughed, smiling at the thought of Noah and how she'd be able to see him in a few days. It was his fault she was driving through the middle of nowhere, a "short-cut" he called it. More like a way to make sure she'd run into his arms the minute she saw him. This supposed "short-cut" had now taken her to a place called Eureka. She didn't know about anyone else in this one horse town, but she didn't feel like shouting about anything. Especially bathtubs.

The bell over the 7-Eleven door jingled and the pickup driver walked out, tipping his hat and smiling at Diana as he got in his cab. She finished filling her car up and walked over to the store, noticing that the pickup driver had bought both types of cake after all and had begun to eat them with enthusiasm as he read a newspaper.

She smiled to herself and grabbed a soft drink full of caffeine as she walked over to the counter. The cashier made small talk with her as he processed her card transaction, and she answered his questions politely but her heart just wasn't in it. All she wanted to do was get in her car and get to Noah's as quickly as possible. She hadn't seen him for months, and they had a lot of lost time to catch up on.

She smiled at the cashier and said goodbye as she walked back out of the store and to her car. It wasn't exactly the coolest car in the world, but it got her around. And she had plans to save up some money and buy a convertible, or a VW Beetle. Or anything that had better credentials than a Dodge Neon.

She gave a half-hearted wave to the pickup driver as she reached her car, who started to return it but then stopped and began to frown at her as she opened her door.

_Alright then, freak_, she thought, climbing into her car and put her key in the ignition, _I was only being nice_. She looked in her side mirror and noticed the pickup driver was getting out of his cab and looking in her direction. Of all the people to wave at, she had to wave at the psycho.

Scowling at her own stupidity, she started her engine and took one last glance in her side mirror and spend off onto Route 50, tires squealing on the asphalt.

The pickup driver, who had hurried to get to her, looked panicked and glanced over at the cashier, who seemed oblivious to anything that was happening outside. Catching his breath, he shouted after the taillights that were fading into the distance.

"Wait! There was someone in the back seat!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"_I'm on the highway to hell. Highway to he-"_

"Hey! Dude, what the hell do are you doing? Do you even know who that is!" Dean snapped, reaching over and pressing the play button.

"_-ll. I'm on the highway to-"_

"Hmm.. let me see…could it be Metallica?" Sam replied sarcastically, switching the music off again and rolling his eyes at Dean.

"Seriously Sammy, if you do that again, you'll be in that home for the elderly that we just passed sooner than you can say AC/DC." Dean replied, gesturing in the direction they had just come from. "Don't you remember that little chat we had months ago? Driver picks the music, shotgun-"

"Shuts his cakehole." Sam finished, sighing and shaking his head in despair. "I know that, but don't you think there's a reason for me to turn the music off? If I just wanted to get rid of the greatest hits of mullet rock, I would've thrown the tapes out months ago." He unfolded a newspaper that he had on his lap and held the front page up so Dean could read it.

"Route 50 claims another victim," Dean read, glancing at Sam with a sceptical look on his face. "So? What's a car accident got to do with us?"

Sam shot him a warning look and began to scan the front page. "This isn't the first car accident in this place. This is the eleventh one in five years. All of these people died on the exact same stretch of road on Route 50 and -"

"And every single of them was probably killed by a woman in white." Dean finished, grinning at his brother. "Not exactly thrilling news, Sammy. Couldn't you come up with something a little more exciting than that?" He asked, reaching for the cassette player again. He pressed the 'play' button, but nothing happened. He frowned and began to press any button he could lay his hands on, but still nothing. "Dude, what've you done?" He asked, looking over at Sam, who had a cassette in his hand and was currently dangling it out of his window. "Oh that's cute Sammy, real cute. Just give it back, and I promise I won't kick your ass."

"Forget it, not until you listen to what I have to say for a change." Sam replied, letting the cassette slip a little and taking great satisfaction from the look of horror on his brother's face.

Sensing that this was one fight he wasn't going to win, Dean shook his head in exasperation. Besides, he wasn't going to risk his beloved AC/DC cassette over a stupid story. "All right, go on."

Sam smiled smugly and carried on reading from the paper. "You'll be surprised to hear that none of them were killed by a woman in white, unless women in white's attacks have suddenly escalated to incorporate decapitation, and single women."

Dean did a double take, which Sam took particular pleasure in. "Decapitation?"

"Yes Dean, decapitation." Sam answered, trying to keep the sarcasm and glee in his voice to a minimum. "All the bodies discovered were found _sans_ head. They were chopped clean off, some of them were even cauterized. Apparently these attacks have even become more professional as the years have gone by."

"What do you mean 'more professional'?" Dean asked, looking slightly confused.

"Well it says here that in the first year or so, these attacks usually ending in the car crashing and the head ending up a long way away from it's owner," Sam replied, skim reading the newspaper. "But in the later ones, the cars are just found idling in the middle of the road. And the heads… well, the heads were still on the bodies. Nobody realised the head had been detached from the body until they tried to move them." He paused, picturing the gruesome sight that awaited the first person on the scene.

"Sweet." Dean muttered, grinning. "But what makes you think this is some sort of supernatural being? It could just be some axe-wielding maniac getting kicks out of joyriding and chopping people's heads off." He suggested, although already half knowing that this wouldn't be the case.

Sam looked out of the window for a minute, then turned to face his brother. "I suppose there's always a chance it could be just a normal person, but you and I know that's probably not the case. Besides, it's not like we've got anything else to do right now." He looked almost pleadingly at Dean, which for some reason reminded Dean of the helpless kid his brother used to be.

"Alright, alright." Dean replied, giving in. "But that cassette, goes back in there. Right now." He indicated from the cassette in Sam's hand to the cassette player. "Or I really will kick your ass."

Obligingly, although with reluctance, Sam inserted the cassette back into the player. _Damn_, he thought, _that was probably the best opportunity I had to get rid of some of his outdated middle-aged music_. He scowled at himself, glancing over at Dean who was grinning wickedly at him.

"That was an opportune moment right there, Sammy, and you missed it. It's safe to say that your ass is never going near my music again." To illustrate this, he grabbed a few of the odd cassettes lying around near Sam's feet, shoved them into his jacket pocket and flashed Sam another wicked grin. "So, where are we going then?"

Sighing, Sam took one last glance at the newspaper. "Eureka."

"As in water is flowing out my bathtub, Eureka?"

"No, Eureka as in Eureka, Nevada." Sam replied, folding the newspaper up and throwing it in the back seat.

"Nevada! But that's about five hundred miles in that direction!" Dean exclaimed, pointing to their right.

"Well we'd better get going then, hadn't we? " Sam quipped, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes.

"I swear Sammy, if you weren't my little brother, your ass would have been out on the asphalt about a hundred miles back." Dean muttered, putting his foot down and speeding off down the highway.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next day, Sam drove the Impala to a 7-Eleven on what was proving to be an unusually hot afternoon for the middle of May. The heat was visible as it rose up off the asphalt and even though all of the Impala's windows were wound down as far as possible, the temperature in the car was still unbearable.

Dean, however, had still managed to fall asleep despite the searing heat and was currently snoring loudly with his forehead pressed against the window frame.

_I don't know how he does it_, Sam thought, shaking his head and smiling. _No matter whether it's demons, ghosts or just hot weather, Dean would sleep through anything_. He pulled up at one of the empty gas pumps and turned off the engine, glancing over at his brother. _I wish I was like that…_

He sighed and reached over to wake up his brother, giving into an urge that he had been resisting for the past few hours. Pinching Dean's nose, he suppressed a grin as he watched Dean jump and splutter as he woke up.

"Wh-what?" Dean stuttered, taking off his sunglasses and rubbing his eyes. "What the hell did you do that for?" He asked, rubbing his nose and shooting an evil look at Sam as he sat up.

"We're here." Sam replied, his remark somehow reminding Dean of a creepy kid from a horror movie.

"Where's here?"

"Route 50."

"Oh, eureka." Dean muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes and glancing out of this window. "Err Sammy? I hate to put a dampener on things, but this Route 50 looks an awful lot like a 7-Eleven. Did you get your buildings and roads mixed up again?" He teased, grinning at him. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but Eureka's town centre can't be made up off a couple of patrol cars and a 7-Eleven. So, are you going to tell me why we're really here?"

Sam scowled at him and nodded at the patrol cars parked near the store front. "This is where the latest victim, Diana Pearson, was last seen. Apparently the driver of a pickup parked here that night chased after her as she left the store."

"He chased after her?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Well that's what we're here to find out." Sam opened the glove compartment and grabbed their fake i.d's, throwing Dean his. "Let me do all the talking for a change, okay?"

"Ha, forget it Sammy boy. Oldest and the most handsome gets to call the shots, and well what do you know? That's me." He winked at Sam, putting his sunglasses back on before climbing out of the car.

Reluctantly Sam followed, putting on his own pair of shades as he jogged to catch up with his brother. Before them stood two local cops, deep in conversation and discussing something that seemed to be disturbing them. One of them looked in his mid-twenties and it was evident that he loved his job, simply by watching his over-enthusiastic hand movements and animated expressions. The other cop was an older, more world-weary cop who was looking at the younger one with disapproval reserved only for grumpy old men. The _typical old cop, young cop gig,_ Dean thought grinning. _What was it with small towns and clichés?_

When they realised Dean and Sam were approaching them, they broke off and attempted to regain some air of professionalism and authority, failing miserably.

The older cop stepped forward, tipping his hat at them. "Good afternoon boys, what can we do for you?"

Suppressing his outrage at being called a boy, Dean stepped forward and flashed his fake badge. "Well good afternoon, I'm Agent Foreman and this is Agent Chase, FBI." He waved his hand in Sam's direction, who also showed his identification. "We'd like to ask you a few questions regarding the latest decapitation."

At the mention of the word 'decapitation', both of the police officers narrowed their eyes and exchanged nervous looks, and the older one nodded hesitantly. "How can we help?"

"We'd like you to tell us exactly what happened here two nights ago." Sam replied, stepping in before Dean could open his mouth and say something idiotic or derogatory towards the cops.

"Well we know that the Miss Pearson stopped here just after midnight, filled her car up and left about five minutes later, according to CCTV footage." The older cop said tonelessly, as though this was a speech he had rehearsed numerous times. "Her car was found less than a mile down the road, empty except for.." He trailed off and cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable.

"That's all?" Sam asked in disbelief. "What about the pickup driver?"

The officers exchanged nervous looks again and while the older one seemed to be getting more uncomfortable, the younger one seemed to be in his element. "You've seen the tape?"

"Well of course we have," Dean replied grinning, before Sam could get a word in edgewise, "We just like to make you small town cops sweat a little first."

Sam shot him a warning look, whilst flashing an apologetic smile at the cops. "Could you tell us about the driver?"

"He-" Started the older cop, before the younger one jumped in, unable to contain himself anymore.

"He just chased after her, man. Jumped right out of his cab and ran after her when she got out of the store." The younger cop said, sounding more like an excited teenager than a person in a position of authority. "According to the guy himself, Andrew Rainey, he saw someone in the back seat of her car. That's why he ran after her, apparently." He shook his head in disbelief. "If you ask me, that guy was the one that killed-"

"That's enough, Peter." The older cop interjected tiredly, sounding like a man who had done this one time too many. "We don't know whether the man killed her or not, but what we do know is that he left here soon after she did, and in the same direction."

"Do _you_ think he did it?" Sam asked, looking searchingly at the older cop.

"Honestly? I don't know. Forensics haven't found anything to prove that he did it. Besides, he isn't local. So even if he killed Miss Pearson, he had nothing to do with the other murders." There was something that sounded like regret in the older cop's voice. _No it wasn't regret, it was disappointment_, Sam thought. _No suspects and eleven murders could really take it's toll on someone after five years._

So no leads then?" Dean asked, shaking his head disapprovingly when both cops nodded. "Don't worry, that's exactly the kind of shoddy police work I'd expect from a small town like this. Keep it u- ouch!" He exclaimed, grimacing and shooting Sam an evil look.

"Thanks for your time, officers." Sam said, nodding appreciatively at them and walking back over to the car, Dean hobbling close behind him.

"Dude, what the hell have I told you about doing that?" Dean growled, rubbing his sore foot. "Sammy, you do realise I'm going to get my own back on you for all this don't you?"

"Sure, and I'm going to get you back for all the times you've called me 'Sammy'. Jerk."

"Btch." Dean replied, grinning at Sam as they got into the car. "So where to now?"

"Maybe we should go and find this Andrew Rainey guy and talk to him?" Sam suggested, "He might be able to help." He shrugged, picking up the newspaper from the floor and scanning over it again. "Or we could always go to the morgue, see if we can go look at the body?"

"The morgue it is." Dean replied, putting the keys in the ignition and starting the engine. "I love seeing dead people." He grinned and started to drive towards the road. "It's like visiting long lost relatives, but without the presents."

Sam rolled his eyes and glanced out of the window. "Hey, wait a second. That cop's coming over."

Dean followed Sam's gaze and sure enough, the young cop Peter was jogging towards them, arms flailing wildly. "Great, that's all we need." He muttered, pulling up next to Peter. "What can we do for you, officer?"

Peter stood there for a moment, holding on to the window frame for support as he struggled to catch his breath. _And this guy's a cop?_ Dean thought incredulously.

"Thanks for stopping." Peter said, smiling gratefully at them. "I think there's something you should know about what happened here that night." He glanced nervously from Dean to Sam, and then carried on. "We checked the CCTV again after hearing Rainey's claims about someone being in the back of Miss Pearson's car, and, well… there's was no-one there."

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. "Seriously? Are you sure?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Yes, positive." Peter replied, nodding. "There was no-one there. There was nothing. Nothing at all."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Twenty minutes later, the Impala pulled up outside the town morgue; a small, dark and gloomy building that was added on to the Eureka equivalent of a hospital; a walk-in clinic. Not that the rest of the town would ever win a "Prettiest Picture" competition, but it was quaint to say the least.

It turns out that Dean hadn't been far off in his estimation of the town. Apart from the 7-Eleven, the clinic and the morgue, the town had three general shops, a restaurant/bar, a pharmacy, launderette, a library, a few other specialised shops and a police station that looked about the size of a bungalow. Vegas, it wasn't. Still what the town lacked in concrete, it more than made up for it in shrubbery. Wherever there was a patch of grass, it was completely covered with flowers of all types and sizes, though that wasn't the worst of it. Any grassy area large enough was home to an array of topiary beasts, ranging from normal rabbits and birds, to the not-so-normal tarantulas.

"Jeez, welcome to Stepford." Dean muttered in disgust. "I think old Ed got a little trigger happy with his scissors, don't you think?" He asked, nudging Sam and nodding over at the topiary animals.

"Those things should come with a government health warning." Sam replied, wrinkling his nose disapprovingly.

Dean laughed, turning off the ignition and putting the keys in his pocket. "Definitely. I think if those things suddenly started walking around one day, I'd be a hell of a lot more afraid of them than I am demons! They're just too creepy for words." He shuddered, throwing the topiary beasts one last evil look before getting out of the car.

"People think ghosts and urban legends are the stuff of nightmares. They obviously haven't seen these things." Sam inclined his head in the direction of the beasts as he got out of the car, giving them an evil look not entirely dissimilar from the one Dean had thrown them.

"You know I still think this is going to turn out to be some guy getting kicks out of chopping people's heads off." Dean said, winking at Sam.

"How about we bet on it then?"

"Bet?"

"Yes Dean, bet. Put your not very well earned money where your mouth is for a change. Hundred bucks says I'm right." Sam grinned, knowing his brother wouldn't dare turn him down.

"Alright Sammy, you're on. Although don't start crying like a baby when I say 'I told you so.'"

Sam followed Dean up the uneven path to the morgue that, if possible, looked even worse than it had done previously. _Well we know where all their money goes_, Sam thought, grinning at the thought of those hideous topiary animals. "So, who are we now?" He asked Dean, pulling out his fake identification and glancing over it.

"Well I don't know, Sammy. How about you decide for a change?" Dean grinned at his brother, taking his own identification out too. "Although you can't be the typical college geek and use boring names, they have to have some meaning or are a reference to something, okay?"

Sam scowled at the 'college geek' reference, but decided to let it pass for the time being as they walked into the morgue.

The cold air and smell of disinfectant hit them straight away. _Better that than the smell of dead bodies_, Dean thought, screwing up his nose and trying to prepare himself for the overwhelming stench of death. Mutilation he could take and demons were a walk in the park, but when it came to the smell of dead bodies, he couldn't quite hack it. Sam had the same problem, yet neither of them was quite ready to admit it.

They walked down a long cream coloured corridor, heels scuffing the immaculately polished linoleum. Pushing open the two dark grey swinging doors at the end of the corridor, they came face to face with a short, bald man who was wearing thick black glasses.

"Can I help you?" He asked with an unusually high voice, sounding a lot like Jack Nicholson coming down off helium.

Dean suppressed a giggle, shoving his hand into his mouth to stop any hysterical laughter escaping whilst trying to pull himself together.

"Err… Hi, my name's Agent Venkman and this is Agent Stantz." Sam replied, nodding in Dean's direction and flashing his badge, also trying to suppress a smile. "We're from the FBI, Sir. We'd like to see the latest decapitation victim."

The coroner eyed them suspiciously for a second, before nodding and walking over to one of the drawers over the other side of the room. "I'm Doctor Albert Hargreaves, the senior coroner. Which is just a posh way of saying the _only_ coroner." He rolled his eyes, and Dean had a strange feeling that he'd like the coroner if it wasn't for the fact that he couldn't look him in the eye without wanting to burst out laughing.

"There's not really much I can tell you, or in fact _show_ you, that wasn't already written in the papers. But…" He opened the drawer and rolled the tray out, beginning to unzip the body bag. "You're welcome to see for yourselves." He finished unzipping the bag, and both brothers gasped as it's occupant was revealed.

"Umm.. the head… it's still…" Dean stammered, looking slightly confused and disgusted.

"It's still disconnected?" Albert replied, smiling the smile of one who'd seen something like this many times before.

"Disconnected….yeah, that's the one." Dean gulped, stepping a little closer and eyeing the head suspiciously.

"The head can't be reattached until the you've finished your investigation, so until then I'm afraid Miss Pearson will be one body part short." Albert answered regrettably, smoothing the girl's hair down which Sam found completely unnerving.

Sam moved towards the drawer, trying to get a good look at the neck wound without getting too close. "What can you tell us about the weapon used?"

"Weapon?" Albert asked incredulously. "Son-" Earning himself an evil look from Sam. "-there was no weapon. At least none I've ever seen before. Something cut her head off alright, but it's with no weapon that leaves a recognisable mark. So far as I can tell, no-one has ever seen a weapon that could do something like this and not leave a mark. Quite a mystery you have on your hands, boys."

For once, the 'boys' remark went straight over the top of their heads as they exchanged confused glances. "Are you sure nothing could have done this?" Sam asked, frowning.

"I'm positive. I've even consulted with big city coroners. They concur that they've never seen anything like it." Albert sounded amazed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Sir, is there anything else you can tell us about the state of the body? Anything out of the ordinary?" Sam inquired , folding his arms over his chest and looking searchingly at Albert.

Albert paused for a second, and then nodded. "Yes there's one last thing, though I'm surprised you folks don't know about it. It might not have been in the papers, but that's only because you lot made sure it didn't get released." He pulled the drawer out a little further and pulled the bag down so the girl's torso could be seen. "Rightly so too." Albert added, as he put his hand in the small of the girl's back so they had good view of her shoulders. Right in between her shoulder blades, the number 11 had been carved into her skin.

The Winchesters stood amazed for a second, shocked at the sight in front of them. The number was carved there, as clear as day yet neither of them could completely believe in what they were seeing.

"What…what was used?" Dean asked quietly, managing to recover himself first.

"Again, I'm not quite sure." Albert replied solemnly, shaking his head in exasperation. "It looks like it was made by a pen knife, but I can't be certain. Whatever it was didn't cut very deep though…" He trailed off, staring into space for a few seconds before pulling himself together and beginning to zip up the bag. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do."

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A few minutes later, Sam and Dean emerged from the morgue to bright sunlight and both breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, that was.. weird." Sam stated, looking over at Dean as they made their way back to the car. "What kind of being or demon-"

"Or human." Dean interrupted, at which Sam rolled his eyes at before carrying on.

"_Or human_, could decapitate someone without even leaving a mark and then start a body count?"

Dean looked at his younger brother and shrugged. "I don't have a clue. But I bet I know a place that does."

"The library. Man, I never thought I'd hear you actually want to go to a library before." Sam grinned teasingly at Dean.

"It's all to satisfy your curiosity little bro. I'm just tagging along for the ride, as I still think it's a human killer." Dean replied, rolling his eyes.

"Sure…you do realise you're going to be a hundred bucks down by the end of today?" Sam retorted, grinning and speeding up a little as they got to the car.

"Whatever, dude." Dean said, shaking his head. He paused and dropped behind as they walked to the car. "The library!" He muttered, smacking his hand against his head. "God help me, I'm turning into a geek."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Like the morgue, the library was clearly in need of a good makeover. But seen as town funds were spent elsewhere, the Winchesters had to settle with the smallest library they, or rather _Sam_, had ever seen. Yet despite its bleak exterior, the inside of the library was surprisingly spacious and held collections of books that Sam wouldn't have even dreamt of seeing in a place like this. However the thing that shocked the Winchesters the most was the fact that the Eureka library had a fully functioning computer. An ancient and unbelievably slow computer at that, but it did have its uses.

It was at this doddery old computer that Dean had been sat for the past three hours, trying to dig out any information that could settle his and Sam's bet once and for all. Though so far, he'd had no such luck. The computer was so slow that it took around half an hour to complete one search on the internet, so the going was very slow indeed. When Dean and Sam had first stepped foot in the library, Dean had spotted the computer straight away and bagged it before his brother could get a word in argue otherwise. Now Dean thought he'd drawn the short, especially as Sam was currently flicking through new articles at an amazing pace. He typed another query into the search engine and then placed his head on the desk. _Next time, I'll let Sam do all the work_, he thought. _God knows I've done enough for him since we were kids_. _Besides this was his idea, I didn't want anything to do with this yet here I am, stuck at this rusty old computer_. _Not exactly my idea of fun. _He looked up and glanced around the library, pausing and looking appreciatively at an attractive girl who had just walked in. He winked at her, earning himself an angry look from the girl's boyfriend who was stood behind her. Scowling, he placed his head back on the desk and resigned himself to another half hour wait.

Sam wasn't having much luck with the newspapers either, though he certainly had the advantage of speed over his brother. So far he'd managed to find news articles about the other ten murders, but none of them had shed any light on whatever was doing this. The only thing he'd discovered was that every single murder was basically identical. None of the news articles mentioned anything about the numbers between the shoulder blades, like the Doc had said. _Not exactly the most clued up town in the world_, Sam mused, sighing and turning to the next article.

He paused for a second, frowning as he glanced over the article. He flicked back through the articles on the other murders and then looked back at the one he'd just turned over.

"Dean, I think we might have a winner."

Raising his head up off the table, Dean turned around to face Sam, looking sceptical. "What?"

"More like 'who'." Sam replied, holding up the news article he'd just found. "There has only been eleven victims, right?"

"Right." Dean nodded.

"So either the police missed a victim, or this guy started it all." Sam said, looking closely at Dean for his reaction.

"Who?"

"A guy called Charles Harrington. He died in a car accident just over five years ago. Any guesses on how he died?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You've got to be kidding me?"

"I'm afraid not. Old Charles here was decapitated." Sam replied, shaking his head and sounding very pleased with himself.

"What makes you so sure he wasn't the first victim?" Dean asked, determined not to lose his hundred bucks. "The police might not have picked up on it, that's all. They're not exactly very efficient."

"Because unlike the other victims, the method of Charles Harrington's decapitation isn't unknown…" He paused, relishing in Dean's shocked expression.

"So what decapitated him?"

"He was in a head on collision with another car, and something from the car worked it's way loose and cut his head clean off. It was a one in a million chance but it happened." Sam put the news article back on the table and folded his arms, a satisfied expression on his face. "Sounds to me like he had a good reason to come back as a vengeful spirit."

"Or a member of his family was so pissed off at his death that they decided to hack up whoever drove on Route 50." Dean stated, shrugging. "It's not rocket science, Sammy. Besides, that doesn't explain the numbers in between the shoulder blades."

Sam tapped his fingers on the desk, thinking. "Maybe he was just a big fan of that film, _The Frighteners_, and decided to add a little something extra to his victims?" He suggested, as Dean burst out laughing.

"Sam, do you realise how stupid that sounds? A vengeful spirit comes back to hack people's heads off and decides to turn it into a tribute to his favourite film? That's pretty far-fetched, even for you." He shook his head, laughing and wiping tears from his eyes. "Oh man, that was classic."

Sam scowled, clasping his hands together in an effort to stop himself from wiping that smile off his brother's face. "Have you got a better idea?"

"Yeah, I do actually." He cleared his throat dramatically, which earned him a warning look from the librarian. "Maybe it's just the work of some whacked out psycho killer who's seen one too many movies. Life imitating Art, and all that.."

Sam laughed in disbelief. "You're still hanging onto the old human killer theory? Dean, give it up. It's only a hundred bucks, it's-"

"Don't even try and give me any of those damn clichés, Sammy." Dean interrupted, rolling his eyes.

"I wasn't going to, I was just going to say it's not the end of the world you know?"

Dean paused for a second, mulling over what Sam had said before shaking his head, not bothering to explain the irony of his statement. "Whatever, man. Let's just try and concentrate on finding whatever this is, we can sort the finer details out later."

"Yeah Dean, there's just one problem. How are we going to find something when we can't even agree on what it is?"

Dean frowned, his eyes falling on the newspaper Sam had left on the table. "Why, go and visit Charlie's family of course. And visit his grave, just in case. Satisfied?"

Sam nodded and they headed out of the library, the Harrington article folded neatly in Sam's jacket pocket.

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A couple of hours later, while the Winchesters were tucking into a meal at the only Eureka diner, Joe was speeding along Route 50 at an alarming rate. He'd read about those murders, of course he had. It was all the residents of Eureka had gone on about for the past few years. He'd never even given them a second thought until he actually had to use Route 50.

It didn't help that he was a completely wuss, teen horror movies scared the life out of him so something like this was enough to make him want to give up driving for life. Unfortunately this was one driving trip he'd been unable to escape from, after promising he'd look after his sister's kids for the weekend. After begging her to change her mind and failing miserably, Joe had thoroughly checked his car for any axe-wielding maniacs before setting off for California.

His nerves had gotten the best of him already and he'd resorted to convincing himself that there was no way the killer would come after him so soon after killing his other victim. He felt sorry for the last victim, of course he did. But if it came down to her life or his, he'd pick his any day.

Thinking about this calmed him down a little, and he decided it was safe enough to turn the radio on. As he pressed the on switch, 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' came blasting out the speakers;

"_Every now and then I get a little bit terrified and then I see the look in your eyes_-"

He jumped, barely holding back a scream and switching the radio off again, his heart beating frantically. _That would have been the kiss of death_, he thought, giggling nervously. _Playing the song that the girl in 'Urban Legend' died to at the hands of a maniac in the back seat, was he trying to kill himself?_ He giggled again, hand shaking a little. _Pull yourself together Joe, nothing is going to happen to you_. It was a statement that he often thought to himself, and he needed it now more than ever.

He drove on at a more acceptable speed, shooting nervous glances at the radio every so often as though the killer was going to jump out at him from there. He looked up and noticed a sign at the side of the road saying "7-Eleven – 1 mile". He breathed a huge sigh of relief, smiling to himself. No-one had ever been murdered past the 7-Eleven on their way out of town, so he really believed he'd be okay.

He sped up a little, desperate to get past the 7-Eleven when he spotted something in his rear view mirror. He turned around straight away but there was nothing there. Shaking his head, he turned back towards the road but tried to keep one eye on the mirror. He was visibly shaking now and had sped up even more when he caught a glimpse of movement in the back seat.

He tried to turn around but something had pinned him against his seat, paralysing his body from the waist upwards. He slammed his foot on the brake, hoping to throw whatever was in his back seat through the windscreen but only succeeding in giving himself severe whiplash.

He felt so defenceless and couldn't help it when tears begin to roll down his cheek. He sobbed silently, knowing what was coming. He felt a sharp burning pain at the base of his neck, and he would've screamed had he been able to open his mouth. Then the pain was gone, but unfortunately so was his head. It rolled off into his lap, a look of sheer terror in his eyes.

The driver's door opened and Joe's head was delicately removed from his lap and placed on the passenger seat. What remained of Joe however, was flipped over had his shirt nearly torn from his back. There was an audible click as the pen knife was opened, and the killer got to work…


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Dean woke up just after sunrise, not surprised to see Sam already awake and watching television. "You watching those George Foreman infomercials again?" He croaked, yawning and sitting up.

"What can I say? They're enthralling." Sam replied, looking over at Dean and nodding towards the desk. "There's a coffee over there for you, should still be warm."

"Ahhh Sammy, you're a genius." Dean stretched, walking over to the table and grabbing his coffee. "What would I do without you?" He muttered, which seemed to be aimed more at his coffee cup than at his brother.

"Stay in bed all day?"

Dean paused, contemplating this. "Come on Sam, give me some credit. I'd stay in bed _most_ of the day, and spend the rest of it in a strip joint."

"Typical. Do you ever go a day without thinking about women?" Sam asked, thinking he already knew the answer.

"Course not, like every other hot-blooded male in this country. There's only one thing on my mind. Well two, if you count all things supernatural. But I don't think of them in the same way I think of women, that'd just be… wrong." He shuddered, wrinkling his nose up in disgust and taking a sip of his coffee. "Aww man, why did I have to say that? You don't even want to know the kind of pictures I've got running through my head right now."

Sam raised his eyebrows, almost wishing he hadn't brought the topic up Although he did make a mental note to never ask Dean what was going on in his head again. "So what are we going to do today?

Dean didn't answer, seemingly immersed in his disturbing thoughts with a look of repulsion spreading across his face. "Huh?"

"I said, what are we going to do today?" Sam reiterated, rolling his eyes. He knew that it was going to be one of those days.

"I thought we were going to go see Harrington's family? And his grave?" Dean said, grabbing some clothes and beginning to pull them on.

Sam scowled, slamming the newspaper down on the desk and standing up. "Do you ever listen to a word I say!" He hated himself for getting annoyed at Dean but he knew it was going to happen eventually. When it was one of these days, he usually kept his mouth shut unless it was absolutely necessary to do otherwise. But unfortunately, he just couldn't afford to do that today.

"Apparently not…"

"Yesterday in the restaurant, I told you that Harrington doesn't have any family here and that he was cremated! Would you listen for a change?" Sam was fuming, and had started pacing up and down the room. He hated getting angry, but sometimes Dean just asked for it.

"Dude, chill. So I wasn't listening? I'm sorry okay?" His half-hearted apology didn't go down too well with Sam, who stopped pacing and stood with his hands on his hips, looking like a child who hadn't got his own way. "It isn't the end of the world you know." Dean muttered, drinking what was left of his coffee and throwing the cup in the bin.

"It isn't the end of the world!" Sam asked incredulously, shaking his head in amazement at how blind his brother could be. "Dean, there was another murder last night." He took a minute to revel in his brother's shocked expression before carrying on. "This thing is escalating. There's going to be a murder a night at this rate. Do you really want that on your hands?"

Dean glared at his brother and shook his head, hating to admit that Sam was right. "Alright, alright. Who's the latest victim?"

"Some guy from town, Joe Machin. Same situation as the other murders. And we can assume he has the number twelve carved between his shoulder blades." Sam replied, recalling what he'd seen on the news an hour ago.

"What do you suggest we do then, Einstein?" Dean really didn't like it when Sam was in a bad mood, as it usually meant he was in for a rough time. Today looked like it was going to be no exception.

Sam sighed and muttered something inaudible.

"I'm sorry, Sammy I didn't quite catch that."

"I said, I don't know." Sam shrugged, shaking his head in exasperation. "The only other person in Charles Harrington's life was his fiancé, a woman named Nadine Marsh, but even she doesn't live here anymore."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, look." He handed Dean the news article and pointed towards the bottom of the page. There was a picture of a beautiful dark haired woman with the caption 'Nadine Marsh; the victim's fiancé' underneath. Dean quickly scanned the paragraph underneath, sighing as he reached the bottom.

"Great, she would've been a good lead too."

"A good lead for what?" Sam asked, dreading to think of the idiotic idea Dean had come up with this time.

"A good lead for the murders of course. What did you think I meant?"

"Oh you have got to be kidding me!" Sam threw his arms up in the air in exasperation and sat down on his chair, shaking his head. "She's tiny! There's no way she could cut someone's head off!"

"If you say so Sammy, but my money would've been on her." Dean grinned, obviously unwilling to let go of his idea until he came face to face with the spirit of Charles Harrington.

Sometimes, Sam just couldn't believe his brother. He'd heard a lot of things come out of Dean's mouth, but this had to be the best. "Dean, would you give it up already?"

"No way, man. I'm not losing out on a well earned hundred bucks." To emphasize his point, he grabbed a wad of bills from his wallet and waved them in Sam's direction.

"You won that money hustling pool."

"Yeah, exactly. Well earned money." He shoved the notes back into his wallet, cursing Sam under his breath. "Look, can you just tell me what we're doing today? We can argue over money and pool hustling later."

"Well we do have one lead from the newspaper, but it is a little far-fetched." Sam replied, waving his hand in the general direction of the paper.

"What, you expect me to read through that again?" Dean laughed disbelievingly, amazed his brother would even ask him to do such a thing. "Why read when I have you?"

Sam glowered at his brother, he'd been doing that a lot lately and he was sure it wasn't good for his temperament. Although then again, _Dean_ wasn't good for his temperament altogether. "It says that Harrington's head couldn't be reattached to his body so instead of it being cremated with his body, his fiancé had it buried somewhere in the local cemetery."

"So you're thinking old Charles has done a headless horseman and started killing people because he wasn't reunited with his head?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows and grinning. "You know, that sounds so far-fetched that it could actually be true."

"Well I'm glad you finally approve of something." Sam retorted, smiling despite himself. Dean could be an ass most of the time, but sometimes he knew exactly what Sam was thinking, which was slightly worrying.

"So, where abouts is the head buried?"

Sam grimaced, shaking his head apologetically. "That's the thing, it doesn't say. All the paper says is that Nadine had the head buried in an _unmarked_ grave."

"Oh you have got to be kidding me! That's all we need." Dean muttered in disbelief. "Why can't things just be simple?"

"Because this is us you're talking about. If you looked up complicated in the dictionary, there'd be a picture of our family."

Dean laughed at this, nodding in agreement. "Damn right. Now, you up for a little head hunting?"

Sam nodded and walked towards the door, Dean following close behind and grabbing his coat as they left.

"You know I've been wondering, how does Harrington carve the numbers into his victims backs?" Dean asked, pausing as he opened the car door.

Sam looked over at him, not quite understanding what he was getting at. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the dude lost his head. So how can he see where to carve the numbers?"

"He's a spirit, Dean. They can do things we can't, remember?" Sam laughed.

"Yeah, he's a spirit Sam. But he's not Superman." Dean looked at Sam with a sceptical older brother expression on his face.

"So what are you trying to say?" Sam asked, climbing into the car.

Dean climbed in after him, putting the keys in the ignition and just sat for a second, pondering his answer. "I'm just trying to say that I don't think it's possible for the spirit of Charles Harrington to have carved those numbers…"

"So?"

"God dammit Sam! Do I have to spell everything out?" Dean yelled, losing his temper. "If it wasn't possible for Harrington to have done it, then someone else must have!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

After spending nearly eight hours searching the Eureka cemetery, the Winchesters were no closer to finding the burial site of Charles Harrington's head. It had already been warm when they had arrived that morning, but now eight hours later, the heat was stifling and they could tell the evening wasn't going to get much cooler.

"Aww man, this is ridiculous!" Dean threw his shovel to the ground and flung his hands up in the air, reminding Sam of a little kid having a tantrum. "We've been here for eight hours, we've walked around this place god_ knows _how many times and there's no unmarked grave. Or even any sign that there's been an unmarked grave here. It's pointless!"

"Hey, we'll find it alright?" Sam picked up Dean's shovel and put them both in the trunk of the car, slamming it down a little more forcefully than needed.

"Sorry Sam, but you can cut the optimistic crap okay? The head isn't here." He shook his head, the disappointment evident in his voice.

"Alright but if it's not here, where is it? It's a human head Dean, it can't have just vanished. People tend to notice things like that." He took a last look around the cemetery, as if he was hoping the head would just jump out at them.

Both of them stood silently for a moment, each immersed in their own thoughts. Then Dean turned to look at his brother, a huge grin on his face. Looking at the overly pleased expression on Dean's face, Sam thought the only thing missing from this picture was a huge yellow light bulb lighting up over Dean's head.

"Doc." One word escaped from Dean's lips and the sound of his voice seemed to indicate that he thought Sam should know what he was talking about.

"Doc? Doctor who? You want me to go through all the doctors names I know? Heck why don't I just grab a DeLorean and go grab Doc Brown while I'm at it?" Sam snapped, clearly irritated by his brother.

Dean rolled his eyes, throwing Sam an evil look for daring to make fun of him. "Doc Hargreaves… The creepy coroner guy?" He added, after his first sentence seemed to make no impact on Sam's gormless expression.

"Oh yeah right, what's he got to do with anything?"

Dean sighed, shaking his head in despair. "He's a coroner, Sam. Now what do coroners deal with?"

"Death, Dean. Would you please get to the point?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice civil.

"He deals with death, so don't you think he's going to be the best person to ask about where Harrington's head was buried? I mean they wouldn't just let Nadine Walsh bury it herself." Dean laughing, scoffing at the very thought of Nadine Walsh being let loose with her fiancé's head.

"Maybe." He paused, throwing Dean a cynical look "Are you sure you're not just using this as an excuse to go and laugh at the guy again?"

Dean threw Sam an unconvincing hurt look. "Sam, please. Would I do something like that?"

"Do you really want me to answer that question?" Sam leant against the car and folded his arms, his patience slowly diminishing.

"Ahh, no actually. But tell me Sam, have you got a better idea?"

"Actually I do." He sounded very pleased with himself, and Dean was sure he wasn't going to like what Sam had to say. "Don't you think an undertaker would be the best person to ask about where somebody is buried?"

An expression of distaste and loathing passed across Dean's face, knowing that Sam was right but not wanting to admit it. "Maybe. How about we bet on it?"

Sam groaned, not believing that Dean could want to make a bet over something like this. "What are the terms?" He knew better than to indulge him, but it was either that or have Dean on his case for the rest of the day.

"We split up and each go and find our chosen contributor. Then we'll meet back at that shady little restaurant in an hour, and whoever has the location of the head, gets fifty bucks. Deal?"

Sam nodded, outstretching his hand and shaking Dean's. "Deal." He turned around and opened the passenger door. "Who gets the car?"

"You even have to ask that question?" Dean walked around the front of the car and opened his door. "Dad gave me this car, so I get to drive it. Besides, you're the one who's contesting me Sammy. So you should walk." He flashed Sam a wicked grin and climbed into the car.

Sam laughed, putting his head in his hands. Sometimes Dean was just unbelievable. He shook his head, and climbed into the car.

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Dean paced up and down the corridor, hands in his pockets and head down, counting the lines on the linoleum. Every few seconds he kept checking his watch, determined not to let Sam win this bet. The good doctor was on his lunch break, and should've been back ten minutes ago. He'd already been waiting for twenty minutes, and at this rate he'd never make it back to the restaurant. In the car, he'd specifically told Sam that if he took over an hour, he'd forfeit the bet. And it wouldn't look too good if he fell foul of his own rules. Sam would never let him live it down. This thought only seemed to aggravate him, and he began to speed up his stride as he carried on pacing up and down.

Ten more minutes passed, and he was starting to look very nervous. He'd stopped pacing up and down, and was now perched on a rickety wooden chair next to the door. He was tapping his fingers on his knees and was considering giving up and breaking into the morgue, when he heard footsteps approaching.

Dean looked up, coming face to face with his own reflection in a pair of thick black glasses.

"I wondered when I might be seeing you again. Where's your partner?" Albert held out his hand in a greeting.

Dean shook it and stood up, smiling. "He had someone else to see, so I'm afraid you're stuck with me this time."

"That's no problem. What can I do for you now, officer?" He reached into his pocket, pulled out a key and unlocked the doors to the morgue, indicating for Dean to follow him.

Dean stepped into the morgue, trying not to acknowledge the smell wafting towards him. "Well sir, I was just wondering if you could tell me the location of Charles Harrington's head?"

"You mean it isn't there?" Albert asked, sitting down at his desk and pulling a sandwich out of one of the drawers.

"Isn't where?"

"Isn't in the cemetery?" He took half of his sandwich and offered it to Dean, who looked like even the thought of eating in a place like this was going to make him throw up.

"No, sir. We spent eight hours searching for that damn head, and came up with nothing." Dean replied, shaking his head politely at the sandwich offering.

Albert paused as he was about to take a bite out of his sandwich, looking curiously at Dean. "You don't know whereabouts the head is buried do you?" He smiled when Dean shook his head. "Well I could have saved you a lot of time and effort if you'd just asked me first."

Dean laughed, a bemused smile playing on his face. "So, where's the head buried?"

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Across the other side of town, Sam didn't seem to be having much luck either. After Dean dropped him off near the library, it had taken him nearly fifteen minutes to even find the undertaker's. He'd finally happened upon it by chance, after taking a wrong turn down an alley and nearly walking into a coffin that was being stored outside. Now he was sat in the foyer, waiting around for the undertaker to make an appearance. So far all he'd manage to fathom was that the undertaker's name was A. Kinsella, and that was only because it was written in huge gold letters on the window. At this rate, Sam wouldn't have been surprised if the undertaker turned out to be the coroner, Hargreaves. Creepy towns like this always had someone doing more than one job, and this town certainly lived up to the word 'creepy'.

He was flicking through a magazine entitled "Which Tombstone Is Right For You?", when the door to the back of the shop opened and a middle-aged woman approached him. He looked up into a pair of grey eyes and a kindly face.

"Hi there, my name's Alicia Kinsella, undertaker. How may I help?" She smiled, at him offering her hand as he stood up.

"Hi, my name's Agent McMurphy, FBI. I'd like to ask you a few questions about Charles Harrington, if you wouldn't mind? Sam took her hand and shook it lightly, before flashing his badge.

"You want to know where the head is, don't you?" She smiled wickedly at Sam's shocked expression. "I get a lot of people asking me where his head is, though I didn't think something like this would interest the FBI. It usually kids who want to get a kick out of an unusual death."

"Yes ma'am I do. I can't really go into too much detail over why, but this could be important for our case." Sam smiled, trying not to give too much away. "It would be much appreciated if you could provide me with any information."

Alicia smiled and picked a business card up from the table next to Sam. She reached into her pocket and fished out a silver barrelled pen. She crouched down and began writing something on the back of the card. "I can tell you where the head is, but you might need some visual guidance too."

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One minute before the hour, Dean rushed into the classily named "Grub's Up" restaurant to see Sam lounging in one of the diner seats, two beer on the table in front of him. As he approached, Sam began tapping his finger on his watch.

"Wow Dean, cutting it a bit close there aren't you?" Sam grinned, pushing one of the beers towards his brother as he sat down.

"Whatever man, I still made it." He sounded out of breath as he took a sip of his beer and slouched back against the seat.

"So did you get the location?" Sam asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the business card the undertaker had given him.

"Yeah, did you?"

"Course I did. But how do we know one of us isn't lying?" Sam asked, eyeing Dean suspiciously.

"You're not going to trust me?" Dean asked, making a mock hurt expression and trying to sound offended.

"And you'd trust me?" Sam threw back, grinning at him.

"No offence little brother, but hell no!"

"Alright, so how are we going to make sure neither of us is lying just to get out of paying fifty bucks?"

Dean paused for a second, taking another sip of his beer. "Aha I know! We'll each write down the location of the head on a piece of paper, and then I'll pass my piece of paper to you and vice versa. Sound good?"

"Sounds great." Sam pulled two crumpled up pieces of paper out of his pocket and handed one to Dean. They eyed each other warily for a second, before turning to their scraps of paper and scribbling down instructions.

"Alright, swap." Dean handed his paper to Sam, and Sam gave Dean his. Both of them groaned at the same time, Dean smacked his head on the table and Sam scowling disappointedly.

"God dammit! For once I've never been so disappointed to hear two corroborating stories." Dean took a long gulp of his beer and propped his head up with his hand.

Sam on the other hand, didn't seem to mind too much after his initial disappointment. He seemed too immersed in the television set opposite them near the bar. "Excuse me, do you think you could turn that up please?" He shouted, directing his question at the teenage barman, who nodded politely and reached for the volume dial. "Hey, I think you need to watch this." He nudged Dean's propped elbow, causing it to slip and Dean's head to come crashing down onto the table, also knocking his beer over just to add insult to injury.

As Dean sat nursing his sore head, Sam kept his eye on the news currently showing on the television. A man in his twenties was currently standing on Route 50, presumably about to go into details about the murder of Joe Machin.

_"News just in. The Eureka police have just revealed information that there was not one, but two murders last night on Route 50. The first victim was revealed to be twenty five year old Joe Machin earlier this morning. Not long after finding the body of Mr Machin, the police found another car parked just a mile down the road. Inside was the decapitated body of Nadine Walsh, a former resident of-"_

"Did he just say what I think he said?" Dean asked, rubbing his sore head and looking mournfully at his empty beer bottle.

"Yeah, that was Charles Harrington's fiancé. Why would he kill her?" Sam looked shocked, and downed what was left of his beer.

"I have no idea, but I think it's about time we went and said hello to what's left of old Charlie, before he kills someone else."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

After slowly drinking the rest of his beer, much to Dean's distaste, Sam grabbed his jacket and followed his brother out of the restaurant to the car. He paused when he got outside and looked up at the sky, frowning. "Dean, it's going to get dark soon. We really need to hurry."

"I know Sammy, which is why I've already thought of a plan." He replied, grinning as he got into the car.

"Care to share?" Sam realised it was better to indulge Dean's wacky ideas instead of ignoring them, as he figured one day they would actually work.

"Sure. You go and dig up this elusive head, while I go and stake out Route 50, see if anything happens."

"How come I have to go and dig?" Sam asked, wondering why Dean didn't want to be a part of the digging and why he trusted Sam to do it instead.

"Because I just don't want to dig this time, Sammy. Last time you got to go and stake out a cute chicks house, while I was sweating my ass off in a cemetery." Dean answered, matter-of-factly. "And although Route 50 isn't a place I've love to be, it sure as hell beats digging up a stinking old head. Satisfied?"

"Completely. Besides digging up a head is a hell of a lot easier than trying to ward off a headless, vengeful spirit and it's possible human sidekick, don't you think?" Sam took great pleasure in watching Dean's satisfied expression change to one full of worry.

"Sure, if you say so Sammy." Dean replied, suddenly focusing all of his attention on the road.

They drove in silence for the next few minutes, the sun seeming to go down unbelievably fast as they sped down the road towards the cemetery. The streets were dead, but in Eureka, that was nothing unusual. Aside from a few patrol cars and a few odd cars parked at the side of the road, the Winchesters hadn't seen any other cars driving along the roads after six in the evening._ Brings a whole new level to the meaning of ghost town, _Sam thought, grinning to himself. _He sure as hell wasn't going to miss this town when they were gone._

Dean pulled into the entrance of the cemetery and turned to look at Sam. "You gonna be alright?"

"You mean you actually care?" Sam laughed in disbelief.

"Course I do. I'm like the ass-kicking, handsome Care bear."

Sam laughed again. No matter how angry he felt towards Dean on occasions, sometimes he'd rather be with him over anyone else. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. It's your ass you should be worrying about."

"Oh my ass is covered, trust me." He shifted in his seat and patted his ass to emphasize his point. "So, you know what you're doing?"

"Course, same as always. Salt and burn."

"Damn right, salt and burn baby." Dean reached into his pocket and handed Sam a pack of matched. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Sam turned as he climbed out of the car and looked at Dean. "Hey, I thought you said no chick flick moments?"

"Ahh yeah, course. Btch. Let me know when you've torched the sucker, okay?"

Sam nodded and slammed the door, going round to the trunk and grabbing a shovel and his bag. "Oh, and put your damn seatbelt on!" He shouted as an afterthought, to Dean's open window.

Then he watched as Dean swung the Impala round and drove off into the night. He stood still for a moment, watching the Impala's taillights draw further away, and then made his way into the cemetery. It was nearly pitch black now, so he grabbed a torch from his bag and turned it on, creating eerie shadows whenever the light an oddly shaped tombstone. Pausing when he reached a fork in the path, he pulled out the business card the undertaker had given him. Holding it carefully in his hands, Sam made his way down the left-hand path and towards the other side of the cemetery. From what the undertaker had told him, Charles Harrington's head was buried underneath an old oak tree near the far wall of the cemetery, with only a few neatly arranged stones to distinguish it from the rest of the ground near it.

Five minutes later, Sam reached the far wall of the cemetery and groaned. There wasn't just one old oak tree near the far wall; there were dozens. Starting from one corner and working his way east, he began the slow and monotonous task of checking the ground at each oak tree for any suspicious looking stone formations.

After ten minutes and no stones, Sam was starting to wonder if he'd actually got the short end of the straw after all. He felt like giving up when he shone the torch light over the last tree, and was shocked to see five stones arranged in a diagonal line. Ordinarily, five stones arranged in that particular manner wouldn't have earned them a second glance. But right now, this was the only thing Sam had to go on and he wouldn't have cared if they spelt out "This is not the resting place of Charles Harrington's head." They were stones and they were underneath an oak tree, that was good enough for him. Sighing, he threw his bag to the ground and moved the stones out of the way. Feeling like one of the seven dwarves, he grabbed his shovel and began to dig.

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Meanwhile, Dean was speeding along the town end of Route 50, heading towards the 7-Eleven. He had Foreigner on full blast and was drumming away at the steering wheel, singing along at the top of his voice.

"I'm hot blooded, check it and see. I got a fever of a hundred and three. Oh yeah!"

He turned the volume down a little, just in case Sam rang, and then carried on murdering a great song. He had just started to get into an air guitar solo and was happily strumming away, yet still managing to keep the car on the road, when something flickered in the rear view mirror and he slammed the brakes on hard.

The tyres screeched and Dean's head snapped forward and then back against the seat. Ignoring the shooting pains in his neck, he grabbed his gun from his pocket and swung around to face the back seat. It was completely empty, and was even entirely devoid of fast food cartons and wrappers. Sam's been cleaning again, he thought, grinning and sitting forward in his seat. He rubbed his sore neck and shoved his gun back in his jacket.

"Freaking out over nothing now, marvellous." He muttered, scowling over his own stupidity. "Damn Sam, trying to give me the heeby jeebies."

Wincing slightly, he turned the music off and put his foot on the gas, driving off towards the 7-Eleven. Every few seconds, he'd glance nervously at the rear view mirror to make sure there was nothing there. After getting a mile down the road, he started to relax and turned the music back on again, albeit quietly. He began to concentrate more on the road, feeling so relieved when the neon lights of the 7-Eleven came into view that he didn't notice the movement in the back seat until it was too late. He turned to face the back seat, catching a glimpse of black before feeling himself being pinned back against the seat, paralysed from the waist up.

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In the meantime, Sam had been digging for nearly 10 minutes and had so far come up at a loss. He sighed and sat down on the floor, wondering how Dean was getting along. As he checked to see whether he was really digging in the right place, little did he know that Dean was currently acting like a terrified teenager.

Groaning as he pulled himself up again, he quickly jogged the length of the back wall just to make sure he hadn't spent ten minutes digging in vain. Grabbing the shovel, he carried on digging and hadn't been at it for more than a minute when he heard the unmistakeable sound of metal hitting wood.

"Finally!" He muttered triumphantly, brushing away the loose dirt which revealed a small thick wooden box, the perfect size for a human head. He grabbed the shovel and carefully knocked in the edge of the box, trying not to damage the head. Grasping the wooden edge, he pulled it up and reeled at the dust and smell arising from what remained of Charles Harrington's head.

Coughing and holding his hand over his mouth, Sam took a closer look at Harrington's skull with a mix of disgust and curiosity. "To think, all this death and destruction because of one conventional skull. What is the world coming to?" He commented, shaking his head and beginning to shake the salt and lighter fluid vigorously over the remains.

He took the pack of matches from his inside jacket pocket, pausing first to take one last look at the skull. He opened the match book and pulled out a match, striking it on his first try and watching the flame flare up, casting sinister shadows on the ground. "I'm sorry Charles, but the 21st century just isn't ready for a new headless horseman." With that, he threw the match into the box and watched the flames flicker greedily as they engulfed Charles Harrington's skull.

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As Sam threw the match into the grave, Dean finally acted and put his foot down hard on the brakes. The tyres screeched again and instead of staying put in his seat, the spirit of Charles Harrington released his paralysing grip on Dean's body and he flew forwards, shattering the windscreen and soaring onto the road ahead.

He couldn't tell how long he'd been out, a few seconds, minutes even. But what he did know was that flying through a windscreen hurt like hell. He felt like every part of his body was on fire and the pieces of glass pinching into his skin weren't helping much either. Groaning, he opened his eyes tentatively and winced as pain shot up his neck when he tried to lean forward. "Okay, note to self. Trying to sit up, _bad_."

He lay on the ground, thinking about what he'd seen in his rear view mirror. At first it was just a shadow, a black mist-like shadow. Then before his eyes, the shadow had changed and took on the form of a man, a man with no head. Without a doubt, it had been the spirit of Charles Harrington. And man if his face looked as bad as his dress sense, he would've been fugly, Dean thought, grinning despite himself.

He carried on lying there, gazing absentmindedly at the sky, immersed in his own thoughts when he heard footsteps approaching from the car. "God Sammy, I hope that's you!"

"Unfortunately not."

Something in the unknown voice seemed awfully familiar and as he painfully propped himself on his elbows, he gasped as his eyes focused on the unknown individual. "You?"

"Yes, me Agent… Foreman wasn't it? Unlikely. Still, you boys had me fooled for a while." He ran his finger over the badge on his uniform, seemingly contemplating something for a moment. "And I sure as hell had you fooled didn't I?" He grinned, brushing the hair out of his eyes and crouching down next to Dean. "I didn't expect you to figure things out this quickly. Heck, I didn't expect you boys to figure this out at all. Bet you're surprised it's me, aren't you?"

"You're… you're a cop!" Dean spluttered, apparently the only reply he could come up with.

"Course, which was what made this easier. Do you know how satisfying it was to watch this blundering police force trip over themselves over this?" He grinned again, no longer sounding like the excited teenager Dean had taken him for just a few days ago.

"I can imagine. But your last name-?"

"Ahhh yes, I had to change that when I came back to Eureka. As even bumbling old fools won't take on an accident victim's younger brothers." He laughed as his last statement registered on Dean's face. "Yes, Charles Harrington's younger brother. Rory. Nice to meet you, Mr Winchester, isn't it?" He grabbed Dean's hand and shook it heartily before letting it drop back onto the ground. "Now, I hate to do this. But I can't leave witnesses." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a scalpel. "Not quite a pocket knife, is it?"

He laughed again, and the sound of his wicked laughter made Dean feel like someone was walking over his grave. He shifted, trying to get an edge on Harrington, but each tiny movement sent sharp pains through his body

Noticing the worried look on Dean's face, Rory placed the scalpel back in his coat and instead pulled the gun out of Dean's jacket pocket. "Don't worry, the scalpel's only for afterwards. This is much more efficient. Course I'll have to find another way of removing your head, but that can be arranged." He stood up and held the gun out at arm's length, pointing it straight at Dean's head. "And then as soon as I've finished you off, your little brother is next."

Dean stirred at the mention of Sam, and although he tried his hardest to move, to do anything, he was helpless and at the mercy of a crazed psycho killer. Sammy I'm so sorry, he thought, closing his eyes and waiting for the end to come as the sound of gunfire filled the air.

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If this was death, it really wasn't too bad. There was no pain, no hurt. Just the sound of a body hitting the floor, he thought, frowning as he finally caught up with himself. I'm not dead? Cautiously, he opened his eyes and was shocked to see a figure standing over him.

"Dean, you okay?"

"Dammit, Sam. I've never been so glad to hear your voice." He smiled in relief, lifting his hand and indicating for his brother to help him up. "Ouch.. ow… oh that hurts." He wobbled for a second as he was helped up, before his gaze landed on the body of Rory Harrington. "Dude, you just shot a cop."

"Yeah I know." He grinned, shoving his gun back in his bag. "He deserved it."

Dean laughed, clutching his ribs as he did so. "How the hell did you get here?"

"I stole a car. A police car."

"Haha, that's my boy. How'd you know I was in trouble?"

Sam paused, looking a little sheepish. "I didn't until I got here…"

"Marvellous, Sam. Just marvellous. Kudos for trying though." He bent down, ignoring the pain in stomach, and pried his gun out of Harrington's hand. "Jerk." He muttered, unable to resist one last insult at Rory Harrington's expense. "Where're the cops?"

"They're on their way, I called them soon as I saw you were in trouble."

"Even better." Dean muttered, scowling as he began tidying up after their mess.

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Just over an hour later, Dean and Sam finally left Eureka, exhausted after trying to get their stories across to the dim Eureka police officers. After a long and unsuccessful argument, Dean had finally agreed to let Sam drive the Impala but only if he agreed not to touch any of his cassette tapes.

"Damn, this is going to cost me a fortune to get a new windshield." Dean muttered, looking thoroughly upset. "First thing in the morning, we're taking my baby to a mechanics."

Sam nodded, trying to keep his face straight. "You know, we never did settle that bet."

Dean looked over at him, grimacing as he turned his neck. "Which one?"

"The one about what did this. Turns out both of us were right, so how do we settle this one?"

Dean looked thoughtful for a second, clearly racking his brain for any ideas. "I've got it! Rock, paper, scissors!" He exclaimed, grinning wickedly.

"Are you serious?" Sam asked, disbelievingly.

"Sure. After three, okay?" They both placed one hand behind their backs, and Dean began the countdown. "One… two…three!"

Sam revealed his curled up fist, whilst Dean held out two fingers.

"Dammit!" Dean exclaimed, smacking his already injured head against the headrest, succeeding in sending more shooting pains down his neck. "This sucks out loud!"

Sam grinned, glad he'd managed to get one over on Dean at last. "Alright, hand it over."

Scowling, Dean pulled out his wallet and pulled out five mashed up twenty dollar notes. Reluctantly, he handed them over to Sam, who took them quickly as Dean was already gazing at the notes with a sad, puppy dog look.

"Pleasure, Dean, as always,"

"Just shut up and drive, would you?"

Sam laughed at his brother's forlorn expression and put his foot down, sending the Impala out into the night.


End file.
